


Boots, Belt, and Daggers

by LiquidLobotomy



Series: A Good Man Goes to War [8]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Grief/Mourning, Inspection trip, M/M, Mathias is an Olympic champion brooder, Not Canon Compliant, Past Relationship(s), Post Terror by Torchlight, Westfall is a shithole, being mathias is suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLobotomy/pseuds/LiquidLobotomy
Summary: There is one place in all of the Eastern Kingdoms that Mathias Shaw has done his best to avoid, if he can help it.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Mathias Shaw/Edwin VanCleef
Series: A Good Man Goes to War [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923286
Comments: 27
Kudos: 38





	1. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _If there's a place that I could be  
>  Then I'd be another memory  
> Can I be the only hope for you?  
> Because you're the only hope for me  
> And if we can't find where we belong  
> We'll have to make it on our own  
> Face all the pain and take it on  
> Because the only hope for me is you alone_  
> Recommended listening: The Only Hope For Me Is You - My Chemical Romance

“Varian!” Shaw heard Valeera command sharply, putting herself in front of the King. His eyebrows raised in awe at her guile, her fearlessness, watching as she ducked her head to make sure that Varian caught her eye. “Hey,” she soothed. “Stay with me.”

Shaw’s breath quickened. Those words. An echo of an age long gone. The pleading, the desperation, the ache they brought to him. 

“Stay with me,” she said again. “Don’t get lost in your head.”

His chest tightened. He felt like an intruder, watching them. If he hadn’t been sure before, he was now. The way the phrase tumbled from her mouth, so different than the last time he had heard it, spoken by someone else. He was about to look away, but he caught the barest flick of a glance in his direction from the elf. Her expression wasn’t one of pity, but something more akin to _empathy_ , at least as little as he knew she could muster for him.

It was silly. He knew that she couldn’t possibly know _that_ much, that piece of himself that he didn’t tell anyone. It was deliberately absent from any accessible dossier or file, he’d made sure of it. Hells, he was certain that even _Varian_ didn’t know, keeping an impassive face as the ill-tempered King demanded the order all those years ago. He wouldn’t be standing with them in the royal tent if Varian had even the slightest notion back then.

Quietly, as the King continued to grouse about Wrathion and his affections for the prince, Shaw ducked out of the tent.

@}—>—

“Well, that’s one more to strike from your ridiculous itinerary,” Flynn announced, marking a small _X_ on the parchment before handing it back to Mathias. “We’ve made some pretty good progress. Only one more stop on our tour and then we’re back in Stormwind.”

“Hm,” Mathias grunted noncommittally. He stared into the fire, trying to think not of their next destination. He took a swig from the bottle of ale he had been cradling, not tasting the warm bitterness as he rolled the liquid around his tongue before swallowing. He felt the field journal being taken from his lap, but did not rouse from his thoughts.

“Mate?”

Mathias took a deep breath and shook his head, lifting his gaze to the captain. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Have a bit on my mind, I suppose.” 

“I can see that.” Flynn looked up to the sky, bringing his own bottle up and taking a hearty gulp. “S’getting late,” he remarked. 

Mathias nodded. “We should turn in. We need to set out before first light if we’re to make it to Sentinel Hill well before dark.”

He watched as Flynn drained his drink, tossing the bottle into the dancing flames. The younger man stretched, lifting onto his toes before closing the distance between them. He bent down, leaning in to press his lips against the spymaster’s. 

Shaw inhaled a sharp breath through his nose, only opening his mouth enough to settle Fairwind’s bottom lip between his own for a moment before he pulled back. “Get some sleep,” he whispered, averting his eyes back to the fire.

The spymaster felt his companion’s close presence slip away, moving behind him to one of the two tents they had pitched on the edge of the Light’s Hope Chapel grounds. The canvas rustled for only a moment, stilling by a strong hand.

“Mathias?” Flynn asked softly. He didn’t turn fully to face the pirate, instead inclining his head to indicate that he was listening. “Why did you put Westfall at the end of the list when it’s practically a stone’s throw from Stormwind? It’s almost like you’re avoi--”

“Goodnight, Flynn,” Shaw replied evenly, turning back to the flames. When he was certain that Fairwind had settled onto his bedroll and was sure to quickly drift off into slumber, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his face with the palms of his hands.

@}—>—

“Where are we on the matter of the Defias,” Lord Bolvar asked, changing the subject. Mathias looked up from his notebook, trying to keep the lump in his gut from rising to his throat and his face impassive. He chanced a glance out of the corner of his eye to Pathonia sat on his right, finding her eyes narrowed and a rise in her eyebrow.

“Yes, well,” she began, “I’ve had agents interrogating those we’ve in the stocks, but they seem keen on sending us on a wild goose chase. I’ve dispatched operatives in the surrounding areas.” She pursed her lips. “We _will_ find them.” 

Varian stopped in his pacing, placing his palms on the lacquered table and leaning menacingly over the small council. “You’re damn right you will,” the King growled. “I tire of this incessant _waiting_ , Spymaster. I want a bounty set and posted from here to Stranglethorn, Edwin VanCleef, wanted: _Dead_. I want his head brought to me. Do you understand?”

Mathias’ heart stopped.

“It will be done,” Pathonia answered obediently. “Will there be anything else, Your Majesty?” she asked, lifting from her seat and grabbing the neat stack of dossiers as well as her quill-kit. She motioned subtly for Mathias to do the same with a flick of her hand, her rings rattling.

“No, Spymaster,” Varian replied evenly. “I expect that order in my hand well before noontime on the morrow. The two of you are dismissed.”

Mathias fell in step a pace behind his grandmother, feeling every bit like he was marching to his execution. When they crossed the threshold to the Keep into the mid-morning light and approached the steps, Pathonia stopped and turned to him.

“I have business to attend to, so I will be away from headquarters for most of the afternoon.” She handed him the dossiers, raising her chin challengingly as she narrowed her eyes down on him. “I expect for you to have that order completed, signed and on my desk ready to be delivered to the King by first light.”

Mathias’ eyes widened in horror. “Me? Why me?”

“Because, Mathias,” Pathonia began, placing a gripping hand tightly on his shoulder, “you will be expected to take my place, likely sooner rather than later. I need to know if you are prepared to protect your King and country… or if you are willing to defy me and become a wanted criminal.”

Mathias’ eyes fell to the pavement, swallowing hard. He nodded in understanding. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered. 

“Good. I’ll leave you to it, Agent,” she said as she turned and walked away, leaving him standing there on the stone steps.

@}—>—

Mathias slipped into the Defias hideout easily, his face masked by a red bandana he had confiscated from the stockades. He had purposely left his hair clean of the typical bootblack he used to slick it back to disguise himself on previous infiltration missions. He found a spot in the back of the meeting hall, leaning against the wall and folding his arms.

Before departing for Westfall, he had stopped into the small flat in Old Town that he had shared with Pathonia for years, exchanging his guild leathers for grey twill trousers and a plain linen shirt framed by a dusky blue cloak. He pulled the small lockbox from its hiding spot in the tunnel under the trapdoor in the drawing room and grabbed a few effects: a pair of boots Edwin had left one night, his old uniform belt from his days as a Third Finger and a set of non-descript daggers he hadn’t wielded in years. His heart was still pounding as he placed the lockbox back and grabbed his travelling satchel, stuffing a small pouch of coins and a copy of the order inside, the official paper with his signature still sitting on the small dining table at the center of the room before quickly leaving for the stables and his horse.

The young spy watched Edwin in his element, animatedly rousing the brigands and miscreants with delusions of grandeur, his bandana hanging around his neck defiantly. He took a deep breath as the crowd cheered and hollered, enthralled with the pretty words and promises that spilled from Ed’s mouth as the missive burned a hole in the pouch slung across his torso. Keeping the bandana in place across his face, he pulled the hood of his cloak back, letting his copper hair shine under one of the lamps that dimly glowed from the ceiling. 

Edwin stopped and smirked, calling for his compatriots to disperse in their celebrations, plying them with offers of strong drink. Mathias quirked an eyebrow as the wiry man hopped off his platform, moving through the crowd and heading towards him. 

Edwin didn’t speak as he closed the distance between him, only grabbed his hand and pulled him away. They ducked into a passageway out of sight of the congregation, turning down several corridors before Edwin was tugging him into a room and slamming the door shut behind them. No sooner than the redhead had the strap to his satchel over his head and the lock clicked into place, Ed was on him, pulling off the bandana and crushing his lips to Mathias’. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” Edwin breathed against the corner of his lover’s mouth. The young spy felt his partner’s fingers trail down to fumble with his belt, the daggers clattering to the floor. 

“Stop talking,” Mathias growled hungrily as he turned his head to seek Ed’s lips again, his own fingers tangling in the rogue’s overgrown tresses. He kicked off the wall, marching Edwin backwards towards the bed against the wall. The shorter man dropped unceremoniously as his knees hit the edge of the bed while the young spy kicked off his boots.

“Are those mine?” 

“You left them in my flat.” 

Edwin laughed, reaching out to roughly grip Mathias’ shirt, dragging him down as the redhead grabbed his hair again.

@}—>—

Mathias lazily opened his sharp green eyes, still laying on his front. He favored his weight on his good leg amongst the tangle of limbs with the man curled around him, puffing hot breaths against the bare juncture of his neck and shoulder. With a heavy sigh, his gaze fell on the discarded satchel near the door. He scrubbed his free hand down his face as he unfolded himself from Edwin’s embrace, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and tugging on his trousers. 

“The fuck you think you’re going?” Ed mumbled from behind him. The redhead stilled in tying the lacing to rub his forehead. “Mattie? What’s wrong?”

Mathias swallowed hard. “I have to get back,” he said thickly. “I have an order due on Pathonia’s desk by sunrise.”

“Oh, _fuck_ Pathonia,” Edwin groused, snaking his wiry arms around the young spy, leaning close enough for Mathias to feel his breath on his ear. “Stay with me, Mattie,” he purred.

The redhead tried to shake him off. “I can’t, you know that.” He lifted away from the bed and Edwin’s touch to grab his discarded shirt and the satchel, pulling out a small leather pouch filled with coin, tossing it at the rogue before slipping into his boots.

“The fuck is this?” Edwin sneered as he picked up the pouch, offended. Mathias pulled his shirt over his head and sat back down on the bed next to him, grabbing his hand.

“Run, Ed,” he said softly, carefully. “Run to Booty Bay, hop a ship to Kalimdor. Get the hell out of the Crown's reach.”

Edwin blinked, his face falling into shock. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Mathias lowered his eyes, inhaling sharply. “The King’s ordered for a bounty on your head,” he explained shakily. “He hasn’t called for a capture. He _wants_ you assassinated.”

The ebon-haired man snorted. “Is that it?”

“It’s not a joke, Ed. He wants your _head_ delivered to him in a box.”

“And I quite like my head right where it is, thanks,” Ed countered. “I’m _not_ worried about this, Mattie. You’ll be taking over for Pathonia in a couple of months, then _you’ll_ be the one whispering in his ear--”

“You think me becoming Spymaster is going to magically grant you a pardon?” Mathias asked incredulously. “Don’t you understand? Your temper tantrum _killed_ the fucking Queen.”

“Which is unfortunate, yes, but that twat’s fucking noble ass-lickers refused to pay us to rebuild their Light damned city,” Edwin barked. “My men and their families are _starving_ while they sit in their gilded houses feasting and fucking over their precious wealth every Light-forsaken day.”

Mathias stared at him for several moments, his blood pounding in his ears. He reached into his satchel, pulling out the missive, shoving it into Edwin’s hand. “I can’t stop the order, Ed,” he said softly. “There’s a ship sailing for Kalimdor two bells before first light. _Be on it_.”

“Mathias,” Edwin pleaded. “ _Don’t_ do this.”

The redhead threw his cloak across his shoulders and crossed the room, plucking his belt off the floor and swiftly securing it in place, making sure the daggers were sheathed neatly at his sides. He felt Ed’s wiry arms snake around him, holding him to the shorter man’s chest.

“Stay with me,” Edwin whispered against his neck, his lips brushing against his freckled skin. Mathias closed his eyes, tears finally breaking to stream down his face. He inhaled shakily.

“I can’t, Ed,” he breathed. “You _know_ I can’t.”

“I fucking _love_ you, Mattie,” said the rogue, his voice cracking in desperation. “Isn’t that _ever_ going to be enough?”

Mathias didn’t turn around, didn't say a word, couldn’t bear look at him. Instead, he unlocked the door and stalked out.

@}—>—

Shaw sat outside his tent, staring at the fire. He was thankful one of the Pandaren hosts had tended to it a few moments ago, allowing it to blaze and flicker warmth against the cool Pandaria evening. They had also sat a small crate filled with charmed ice, several bottles of Stormstout Barleywine Ale tucked within. He took a deep swig of the malty brew absently before heaving a deep sigh. 

“Can I get one of those?” 

The spymaster startled, finding Valeera hovering nearby. He reached into the crate and held out a bottle to her, before resuming his vigil over the flames.

“Shaw?” she asked, cutting through the awkwardness.

“Leave it, Valeera,” he said quietly. 

The two sat in silence, watching the fire as it died down to embers. Shaw didn’t retreat to his tent, didn’t sleep, just lost himself to his thoughts and the rich ale. And as the morning broke through the trees, he tried not to think of three words that made his heart ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was _supposed_ to be a one-shot, the last one-shot, but this little interlude demanded itself written.
> 
> I'm done sobbing over this tonight. Hopefully part 2 will be done tomorrow.
> 
> Need to credit @bideru for the bookends with Valeera, mirroring one of her scenes from EPS.


	2. Surrender Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I'll remember your eyes when you're gone  
>  Now you surrender your heart,  
> I surrender every dream,  
> Every weapon you've got,  
> Every secret that I keep,  
> You can fight this all you want,  
> But tonight belongs to me_  
> Recommended Listening: Surrender the Night - My Chemical Romance

Mathias felt Flynn grip his waist with a familiar tightness as they touched their gryphon down at the stable in Sentinel Hill, the flightmaster hurrying to attend to the bird. The flight had been fairly uneventful, neither passing much conversation as they headed south from the Plaguelands. Thankfully, the captain had obliged him willingly at rising early, just before the sun had peaked over the blight-fogged horizon in order to depart for their last destination on their itinerary. The spymaster’s time sense hadn’t failed them, and they found themselves in Westfall in the fading light of the late afternoon fading into early evening.

“There’s only a few pieces, weapons mostly, that we need to catalogue in the Stronghold, then we can head down to Moonbrook for the night,” Mathias explained, pulling out his field journal and a piece of writing graphite as they climbed the hill towards the tower at the center of the garrison.

“Will we need supplies before we head out?” Flynn asked, securing his sea-bag over his shoulder, his long legged stride keeping up with the spymaster easily.

“No, there’s an inn we’ll be staying at,” Mathias replied, silently grateful they would have a good meal and warm bed for the night. “We’ll be heading back to Stormwind in the morning so we shouldn’t have to refill. I made arrangements before we set out weeks ago, so the innkeeper is already expecting us.”

“A warm bed instead of damp bed roll and a pup tent? Tides, you spoil me, mate.” Flynn grinned broadly, attempting to swing an arm around Mathias’ shoulders. The spymaster shrugged him off, keeping his demeanor professional and his back straight.

They approached the Stronghold to be received by Scout Riell. She gave a curt nod at their arrival, escorting them up the stairs to the war room and announcing them to her superiors.

“Ah, Master Shaw,” Gryan Stoutmantle greeted merrily. “Good to see you, again. Heard about that nasty bit of business with the dreadlord a while back. _Nasty_ bit of business, that.”

“Yes, well,” Mathias cleared his throat, averting his eyes, “the Uncrowned are the ones to be thanked for assisting in that altercation.”

Stoutmantle nodded in agreement, his eyes sliding to Shaw’s companion. “And you are?”

“Captain Flynn Fairwind,” the pirate replied boisterously, holding out his hand to the Marshall. “Accompanying the good Spymaster in his official duties.” Mathias rolled his eyes and nudged him imperceptibly.

“It was a long flight, Marshall,” said the spymaster, his tone hinting at exasperation. “We would appreciate taking our inventory so that we can retire to Moonbrook.”

“Of course, lad,” Stoutmantle agreed. “Please follow me.”

The Marshall led them back down the stairs to a corridor near the back of the stronghold, standing towards the entrance of the armory, standing aside for the two men to enter ahead of him. Mathias opened his field journal to a page he had marked WF in the corner, graphite in his left hand.

“We don’t have but a few items that were collected by the razing party that was sent into the mines, I’m afraid.” Gryan gestured to the arsenal that was presented on the wall, away from the everyday weapons organized on the readily available racks. “All three weapons retrieved from Mr. Smite’s lockbox, as you can see here, and the, er… _Tenderizer_ , as it were.”

“Tell me I’m not looking at a bloody _rolling pin_ , mate,” Flynn whispered loudly to Mathias in disbelief. The spymaster flicked a glance at him from his note taking.

“It belonged to the ship’s cook,” Shaw muttered, jotting down the item in his field journal.

“Ship?” Mathias didn't fail to notice the peaked interest in Flynn's tone.

“The Defias hideout,” the Marshall replied. Mathias’ hand stilled. “An orcish juggernaut moored in the grotto below the mines southwest of here. Blasted thing is still berthed. We haven’t yet figured out how he got it there to begin with, else we would have had it removed ages ago.”

Mathias glanced around the room. There were various other items of lesser note, red bandanas framed under glass as well as a full set of blackened leathers that many of the Brotherhood members tended to wear.

“There is… one more piece that may be of interest,” Stoutmantle said hesitantly. He crossed past them, motioning for them to follow. The old paladin led them back the way they came, passing the entrance to the hold, to a door in the southwest corner of the building. He took out a key and turned it in the lock, swinging the aged wood inwards. “I keep this one locked in my personal office, in case of another _incident_.”

Mathias stepped forward, the glass case behind the Marshall’s desk mocking him, encasing a delicate cutlass. The golden hilt didn’t shine, a sign of use, and the thin blade curved into a dual point.

Edwin’s sword.

“The Cruel Barb,” said Stoutmantle. “The blade of Edwin VanCleef.”

“Ooooh,” Flynn whistled, with a smirk. “Well, doesn’t that just sound _piratey_.”

“Where’s its mate,” Shaw asked evenly, sliding his gaze from the weapon back to the old paladin.

Stoutmantle furrowed his brow. “I apologize, Spymaster, but I’m afraid we only found one weapon on his person.”

Mathias sniffed indignantly and made a note in his journal, clapping it shut. “Thank you, Marshall,” he nodded. “It’s getting late and we really should head off to Moonbrook.”

“Of course. Your horse was brought from the city two days back. Our stablehand, Kirk should have him ready for you.”

Shaw shifted a glance at his partner, mentally assessing his frame and weight before catching the captain’s dancing eyes and raised brow.

“See something you like, mate?”

Mathias blatantly ignored Fairwind. “Might we procure a horse for my companion?” he asked the paladin.

“Why can’t I ride with you like we do the gryphons?” Flynn groused.

“Because my horse cannot carry the two of us _and_ our packs,” the spymaster hissed.

Gryan Stoutmantle gave a soft chuckle. “I’m sure that Kirk can find a suitable mare for your friend. As I’m about to retire for the day myself and my cabin is not far, I’ll take you gentlemen down to the stables.”

@}—>—

Moonbrook was only a short ride south of Sentinel Hill. Mathias hadn’t had the chance to travel this far into Westfall in recent years, the memories burning too bright. Part of him was still surprised at the suggestion Anduin had made a couple of years back to help rebuild the town, and even more surprised that Greymane had offered up a stipend to the transient residents, a chance to start over with gold and supplies from the logging camp in Elwynn with the hopes of prosperity. While the fields of Westfall still tinged yellow from the dry air, the crops were a necessary food source to the kingdom, and the mines would provide a much needed resource as Elwynn’s quarries had been stripped ages ago.

As they cantered to the town’s stable, he found that the efforts had not been in vain. The buildings showed the craftsmanship of fresh boards and paint, and the townsfolk bustled in the early evening. Many were exiting the mines after a long day’s work, either heading towards the inn for a needed drink, or off to their families’ homes for a warm supper. The chapel’s bells tinkled merrily, offering an evening Mass while a few council members lingered at the entrance of the town hall, smoking pipes and chattering about the politics of the day.

The sight was a far cry from the hovel he had ghosted all those years ago.

They dismounted their steeds, Flynn handing the reins of the golden palomino over to the stablehand while Mathias fed his black gelding, Dagger, an apple, softly muttering to him as he pet his muzzle. The captain stepped towards them, lightly resting his elbow against the saddle of the spymaster’s horse and smiling warmly.

“He’s beautiful,” Flynn remarked fondly.

Mathias tilted his head and scowled. “I know you’re not talking about my horse,” he chided. “And stop leaning on him.” Flynn bellowed a hearty laugh as Mathias passed the stablehand Dagger’s reins along with a few gold coins before stepping out to the high street towards the inn.

The innkeeper Heather received the two men with a cheerful smile, handing the key to their room to Mathias. The spymaster made a direct line for the stairs, trying to ignore Flynn’s whinging at wanting a drink first.

They entered their assigned room for the night, Flynn depositing his sea-bag by the small desk along the wall and Mathias furrowing his brow at the double-bed under the window. He sighed, as it couldn’t be helped, and placed his bag on the mattress and started to fumble with the buckles of his pauldrons.

“Well, since this assignment is now well and truly and officially completed,” Flynn announced as he sat down on the bed next to Mathias’ bag, “what do you say to a lovely dinner downstairs, hopefully supplemented with… whatever strong beverage the pretty barmaid suggests?”

Mathias rooted in his pack, pulling out a pair of clean leather breeches and a soft cotton shirt. He kicked off his boots and pulled at his belt, deftly removing the item before setting to work on his corsetry.

“Ooooor,” Flynn continued, shrugging out of his coat, “we could get undressed. Excellent idea, best you’ve had this whole bloody trip, mate.”

“I’m not stripping,” Mathias corrected, “I’m changing.”

“Changing?” asked Flynn curiously. “Did I miss something? Are we going somewhere?”

Mathias winced as he pulled a pair of supple black boots from near the bottom of his bag, unrolling the cuffs and pulling them on over the tanned leather. “I’m going to the mines,” he replied evenly, exchanging the daggers on his belt for a non-descript dirk before settling it back against his hips. “ _Alone_ ,” he added.

“Stop.” Flynn’s hands shot out and covered Shaw’s, halting their movements. “Just, bloody _stop_ , mate.” Mathias took a sharp breath and finally looked into his eyes. “What’s this about?” the captain asked gently.

“One of the artifacts we’re supposed to catalogue is missing,” Mathias explained. “I’m fairly certain I know where it’s located, but I have to do this on my own.”

Flynn grew quiet, lowering his eyes and biting his bottom lip. “I thought we were past this,” he said softly.

“And we are,” the spymaster said, trying to sound as reassuring as he could. He placed his hands tenderly on either side of the Kul Tiran’s neck, rubbing the bottom of his stubbled jaw with his thumbs. “Do you remember what I said when you asked me why I wanted you to come with me?”

The captain brought his eyes back up as he nodded. “Because you trust me.”

“That I do.” Mathias nodded. “And right now, I’m asking _you_ to trust _me_.”

“I trust you,” Flynn whispered.

Mathias let out the breath he had been holding and resumed rifling through his pack. He pulled out a travelling satchel, along with a piece of red cloth and a file from the false bottom, securing it again before Flynn could get nosy. He placed the dossier and bandana into the pouch along with his coin purse and toolkit, knowing the captain had some spare gold of his own if he wanted to go downstairs into the tavern for a whiskey and the pot pie they had smelled from the kitchen. After straightening the mess he had made of his bag, he took his field journal and handed it to the pirate.

“Do me a solid and do a final pass over our notes to make sure they line up,” he instructed as Flynn took the book from him. “I would prefer we be ready to set off for Stormwind at first light to hand these to the King instead of wasting time going over them in the morning.”

Mathias bent and kissed the pirate, reaching across him for the discarded coat. He shrugged into it, straightening the shoulders of the supple leather meant for someone broader than himself and slung the strap of his satchel across his torso.

“So you know I’ll be back.” He pulled a small vial from his main pack and downed the contents before discarding the bottle in the bin under the desk.

“What was that?” Flynn asked quizzically.

“Anti-venom.”

“Tides,” Flynn exhaled incredulously. “The fuck are you expecting to run into down there?”

“It’s a precaution,” said Mathias. “Even though the outside of the town has gone through a restoration, these are still Defias haunting grounds.” The spymaster crossed the room and paused, placing his hand on the handle of the door. “After we give that to the King, I think we should take a portal to Boralus. I’d like to get off this Light-forsaken continent for a while.”

“Mathias?” Flynn asked tentatively. The spymaster glanced back at him. “Why did we come to Westfall last?”

Mathias tore his eyes away from his companion, biting his upper lip thoughtfully for a moment. “Because it’s fucking painful,” he muttered as he left the room.

@}—>—

Mathias entered the mines, speaking only briefly to the foreman. As the last of the dwindling workers finished up, he was informed that the grotto had been abandoned and locked off for the safety of his crew. The spymaster assured the man that it was official state business and promised he would do nothing that would harm any of his workers. The foreman gave him a torch and left him to his task.

He delved deep into the mine, the winding path as familiar to him as crossing the rooftops and ducking into secret alleys in Stormwind. He could feel Edwin’s echo along the tunnel walls, whispers from long ago when the pair’s time together had turned dark, on the verge of dangerous.

Mathias came upon the looming steel door and pulled out his kit. He placed the torch in a holder attached to the wall before setting to work on the lock. It only took a few tries to trip the tumblers, but it took some effort to get the thick metal to give under his shoulder, swinging out into the space.

He took a deep breath and moved solemnly across the wooden planks, illuminated by moonlight creeping in from an opening above, climbing each ramp as if each step brought him dread. Reaching the main deck of the imposing juggernaut, his eyes drew to a deep stain across the boards. He took a sharp breath, trying to get his heart to stop clenching at the sight of the blood that had seeped into the porous wood.

Tearing his eyes away, he crossed the deck, pulling the strap of his pouch over his head as he lowered himself to sit, pulling one knee up and letting his other leg hang over the edge. The spymaster opened his satchel and pulled out the dossier, setting it to the side, and a bottle of Wayfarer Red, a favorite of Ed's, that he had purchased from the barkeep before taking off for the mines. He uncorked the bottle and took a long pull of the light amber liquid, the crisp tang of the whiskey warming him. He took another deep breath as he stared off across the moor.

“Come on out, Vanessa,” he said in the silence, cradling the bottle between his hands. There was a tell-tale sound of feather soft footsteps approaching from behind, a presence materializing next to him.

“Either you’re stupider than I thought,” she said smoothly, folding her arms, “or you _really_ have a wish to die this night.”

“I’ve already taken an anti-venom,” said Mathias as he lifted his gaze to the woman hovering over him, inclining his head as a gesture for her to sit. He didn’t fail to notice that her bandana hung around her neck, much like Edwin used to do. “You and I need to have a talk. This anger and rage you hold against me, you’ll find, is grossly misplaced.”

Vanessa scowled, but sat all the same, maintaining a fair amount of space. He sat the bottle between them, giving a slight nod in invitation. She snatched the whiskey quickly, taking a good gulp before putting it back in place.

Mathias placed a hand on the dossier and pushed it towards her. “Everything on your father’s assassination, including the previous Spymaster’s logs.” He swallowed hard and looked at his hands. “No one else in the entire kingdom knows about that file, not even the King.”

He flicked a glance to gauge her reaction, finding her brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s the trick? Why would you give me this?”

“Because once I had your identity confirmed, I felt it was my obligation to make sure you knew the truth,” he replied with a shake of his head. "I truly am sorry it's taken this long to give it to you." He reached over and took the bottle to drain another swig. “It was never about the King, or the nobles, or the stonemasons. Hells, it wasn’t even about Onyxia.”

“Really,” she snorted, reaching for the bottle again. “Then tell me, _SI:7_ , what _was_ it about?”

Mathias took a sharp breath. “Edwin was a means to an end,” he admitted sadly, looking down at his hands.

“My father talked about you,” Vanessa said softly. The spymaster turned sharply to her, stunned. She nodded. “He would say, ‘when all of this is over and we’re safe, I’m going to take you to meet your Uncle Mathias. I just _know_ you’re going to love him.’” A tear streamed down her cheek. “He loved you, didn’t he?”

Mathias bit his upper lip and nodded.

“Then, why did you do it?” she implored, that same desperation he had heard from Edwin all those years ago. “Why did you issue the order?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” he replied. “It’s all in the file, but… I wasn’t really given a choice.” He sighed. “I tried to save him, tried to give him a way out. I told him to run, to flee to Kalimdor. And the stubborn fucker that he was, he didn’t listen to me.”

Mathias rubbed his forehead and ran a hand down his face before taking the bottle again for another drink. “Gryan Stoutmantle said that only one of his blades was recovered after his death,” said the spymaster as he put the bottle between them again. “Where’s its twin?”

“How should I know?” Vanessa hissed indignantly and reached for the whiskey, taking another long drink of her own.

“I’m not asking because I want it, girl,” Mathias clarified. “I’m on orders to do an inspection of the known artifacts of the kingdom. I just want to make sure it’s catalogued and accounted for.”

The girl grew quiet, her brow furrowed in thought, a visage of contemplation he had seen countless times on Edwin when he was trying to decide whether to tell the truth or lie. “It’s with him,” she whispered.

“With him? You mean buried?”

Vanessa nodded. “After I was granted amnesty through the Uncrowned, I was finally able to freely visit his grave. I took it and buried it next to him about a year ago.”

Mathias found himself bewildered by the relief that came over him. He reached into his satchel, removing the red bandana. He held it reverently, rubbing his thumb over the soft fabric and closing his eyes. He swallowed thickly, sending out a silent farewell as he held it out to the girl.

“Thank you,” he whispered as she took it from him, the cloth slipping from his fingers.

@}—>—

It was quarter past midnight when Mathias returned to the inn. He entered the room silently, the only light coming from the twin moonlights spilling from the window. He carefully toed off his boots and removed his belt along with the scabbard housing the dagger at his hip. Draping the leather greatcoat over the chair at the desk, he glanced down at his field journal left open on the lacquered surface along with various other notes and scraps. The page was marked Westfall in his own elegant hand with a light scrawl circling the title. Further down, he noticed a scratch outlining Edwin’s name and Flynn’s sharp chicken scratch below.

_Word has it you knew him. Is that why you went to that old mine?_

Mathias looked over to the bed. The captain was on his side facing away, exposing the long line and broad shoulders of his bare back to him. His bedroll was placed closeby, as was usual any of the previous times they were to share a room, a gesture that he knew Flynn was used to in his seemingly infinite patience with him.

The spymaster pulled the cotton shirt over his head and let it fall to the floor. He crouched to his pack on the floor near the bed, quietly reaching for the hidden pocket that had held Pathonia’s dossier on Ed, pulling out a small pot of slick that he had hidden, just in case. Closing his eyes and taking a deep, slow breath, Mathias stood again, ignoring the bedroll and gently pulling back the covers to slip in beside Flynn.

He pressed himself close against his companion’s back and ran a hand, feather soft, down the side of his torso, the captain’s slumbered breathing still even and cadenced. As he pressed a kiss against the base of Flynn’s neck, he slipped his hand under the edge of the younger man’s linen breeches. He traced the line of his hipbone until he could wrap his fingers around the pirate’s hardening cock, giving it a few gentle, yet tentative, strokes.

Flynn inhaled deeply with a hum that rumbled in his chest. He rolled to face Mathias, his sea-grey eyes searching under a furrowed brow as the spymaster moved his other hand up to rest on a strong shoulder.

“What’s this then?” Flynn asked shakily.

The older man’s eyes roamed the younger’s face in the shadow of the moonlight. “Surrender.”

“Surrender?”

Mathias gave the slightest of nods. He halted his ministrations and took Flynn’s hand, placing the little pot of slick in his palm, closing his fingers over it.

“Really?” the captain breathed.

“I trust you. Just, please… stay with me.”

@}—>—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from a conversation I had with a guildie who is trying to procure Shaw's gear-set from Trial of the Crusader. I had remarked that they only needed the "Boots, Belt, and Dagger" to complete the set, to which they responded that what I had said sounded like the title of a ficlet I needed to write. It's actually been put off and off and off, but then Mathias had to barge in with ALL the MyChem, and here we are.
> 
> And with that, darlings, we are now full circle in our timeline back to Sometimes I Need This. The boys are on their way back to Boralus, ready for a tavern night with Taelia (as well as a few other guests), and I put this supa-Angsty backstory behind me to start working on what happens after These Small Hours. 
> 
> Mathias played that game "the closest item to you is what you name your horse".
> 
> Comments are welcomed and appreciated and will ensure that Mathias gets the hugs he so desperately needs.


End file.
